Sabrina did it. She moved in a daze, and presently she was lying in her bed clothed in blue and white, her soft hair piled above her head, and her eyes wide with some unconfessed emotion. But to Clelia, she was accustomed to look vivid; life was her portion always. The girl sped out of the room, and came back presently, her arms full of summer flowers, tiger-lilies, larkspur, monkshood, and herbs that, being bruised, gave out odors. Sabrina's eyes questioned her. Clelia tossed the flowers in a heap on the table. "What you doin' that for?" asked Sabrina. "I don't know," answered the girl, in a whisper. "There's no time to put 'em in water. I want to have things pretty, that's all. You take your drops, dear. They've come." But Sabrina lay there, an image of beauty in a sea of calm. "I don't want any drops," she said. "I shouldn't think o' dyin' now." Clelia went out, and presently Sabrina heard her young voice with its note of happiness. "In this way, sir," she was saying. "Yes, Rich, you stay in the garden. I'll be there." Senator Gilman, bowing his head under the low lintel, was coming in. He walked up to the bedside, and Sabrina's eyes appraised him. He was a remarkable-looking man, with the flowing profile of a selected type, and thick gray hair tossed back from his fine forehead. He sat down by her. "Well, Bina," said he. This was not the voice that had filled the hall that morning or jovially greeted townsmen all the afternoon. It was gently adapted to her state, and Sabrina quieted under its friendliness. "Couldn't go away without seeing you," said Senator Gilman. "They told me you were sick. I said to myself, 'She'll see me. She'll know 'twould spoil my visit, if I had to go away without it.'" Sabrina was looking him sweetly in the face, and smiling at him. "How much time you got?" she asked, like a child. He took out his watch. "My train is at five forty-five," he said. "Then you talk fast." "What you want to know?" asked her friend. He had fallen into homely ways of speech, to fit the time. "You've done real well, ain't you?" asked Sabrina eagerly. The senator nodded. "I have, Bina," said he. "I have. I've made money, and I own a grown-up son. He's got all the best of me and the best of all of us, as far back as I can remember--and none of the worst. I'll send him down here to see you." "He must be smart," said Sabrina. "I've read his book." "You have? Didn't know there was a copy in town. Nobody else here has heard of it." "I see it noticed in the paper. I sent for it. I never spoke of it to anybody. I guess I was pretty mean. Folks borrow books, an' then they don't keep 'em nice." "Bina, you're a dear. They've been telling me how you take care of the whole town. Richmond Blake--he's a likely fellow; he'll get on--he said you were the prettiest woman in the township. Said his father told him you were the prettiest girl."